


Melting Butter

by guileheroine



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Cooking, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-13
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-31 04:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10891494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guileheroine/pseuds/guileheroine
Summary: Yuuri tries his hand at actually making a pork cutlet bowl.





	Melting Butter

**Author's Note:**

> just a dose inconsequential fluff. [on tumblr ](http://guileheroine.tumblr.com/post/160604380208/melting-butter-yuuri-tries-his-hand-at-making-a)

“Ready?!” 

 

Viktor’s head poked through the doorway for the second time in as many seconds, once he had successfully managed to pry Makkachin off his waist. (At least the dog was on  _ his  _ side, Yuuri thought with some mild satisfaction.)

 

He glared at Viktor from the kitchen, a little incredulous. “ _ No! _ I  _ just  _ started!” Which wasn’t really true, but it felt like he may as well have. He huffed and motioned for Viktor to withdraw into the bedroom again. 

 

Yuuri wished he had a kitchen door to shut and lock so that he might prepare this in peace, but no - Viktor’s beautiful open plan apartment was exactly that; and Yuuri had to practically swat him into his room to stop him from breathing down his neck as he worked, which was annoying, to say the least.

 

To say a little more, this was stressful.

 

It may have been his family’s specialty, but Yuuri had never quite mastered the admittedly fairly straightforward art (though Viktor wasn’t to know that) of katsudon. His mother had shown him once or twice, would probably do so with pleasure again if he asked. But his mother was in Hasetsu. He had left several greasy fingerprints on his phone screen from the messages he had been sending to clarify her recipe, but it wasn’t the same.

 

He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel the tiniest bit inadequate right now -  _ he  _ of all people should be able to magic up a pork cutlet bowl; in fact, he almost felt that some inherent intuition should be… steering him…

 

That was stupid. Cooking wasn’t skating.

 

He flipped the meat with a decisive flick of both wrists. Besides, it was  _ him  _ that had whisked this unsuspecting and delicious item out of its natural context for his personal purposes. (He wondered dimly what the pork cutlet bowl might think being likened to a  _ Yuuri _ .)

 

Yuuri’s onions were perfectly wispy, if a little too brown around the edges. They would have to do. He tossed them in with the pork. He noted with some consolation that the sauce was looking better. He lifted some onto his spoon and blew on it. It tasted fair, too, even without the mirin.

 

Even in St Petersburg, where they rarely came together into this holy combination, most of the ingredients of a pork cutlet bowl could be successfully tracked down if you really wanted them to be.The thought of Yuri’s grandfather’s _ pirozhki  _ had buoyed him. He asked a man in a restaurant where he could find panko, and he had tramped down a strange street to find the dashi. It wasn’t quite the colour it was supposed to be, but it was the best he could do, wasn’t it? He found no nori.

 

Yuuri replaced the lid on the pan, wiped his fingers on a towel and breathed. A gentle snort escaped him as his glasses and his train of thought unsteamed, and he cast his mind back to the conversation that had started all this.

 

It was Viktor’s birthday yesterday. This was a gift, and (after the confusing dials on this cooker) that notion was the primary source of the pressure Yuuri was feeling.

 

“And  _ now _ ,” Viktor had declared (inebriated), on their way home last night. “Now all I want,” he paused for effect with a hearty and delirious laugh, as he tightened the arm around Yuuri’s shoulder. “Is a….’s my…” He blinked into the chill air as he waited for the word to fall into him. “Pork cutlet bowl,” he finished flatly, the tail of it muffling as she shoved his face in the vicinity of Yuuri’s ear.

 

He knew exactly what Viktor meant (and blushed, so profusely that it felt like his face might unfreeze the air around them), but it had given Yuuri an idea.

 

It was yet to be decided whether that had been a good idea.

 

Yuuri beat the egg with a certain relief - he knew how to do this part. Adding it to the pan was a different question. Would it burn if he wasn’t prompt with his spoon? Would it even cook if got all mixed up in the sauce? He steeled himself and tipped it in, spoon at the ready. 

 

He exhaled in relief when the mixture rippled over the contents of the pan and bubbled just like he imagined it should have. The solace was short-lived, however, as the rice on the other hob suddenly spluttered over the rim, the sizzle it created triggering far more adrenaline than it ought to. Yuuri jumped and grabbed the handle, before releasing it again and fumbling for the correct dial. 

 

His breath remained suspended until the saucepan had calmed down; then he lifted the lid and waited for steam, first in his face, and then on his glasses, to clear. But a swirl of the spoon showed the rice was done. Finally. Excellent.

 

The rest looked… adequate, too. He turned the cooker off at the very main switch, for his own comfort, and filed through the cupboards for a suitable bowl.

 

And he played it too safe, as usual. His pork cutlet filled just over half its bowl. This helped it to look particularly pitiful. Yuuri had been hoping he could at least spruce this potential letdown up in the presentation. He sighed deeply. It didn’t really look right without the nori. As if on cue, a singsong voice drifted out of the crack in the door.

 

“ _ Yuuuuriiii… _ ” 

 

“Okay! It’s done!” Yuuri called, feeling a lot more unsure than he sounded. Well, Viktor was just going to have to live with the disappointment; and by ‘Viktor’, he meant himself. (It’s not like Viktor’s affections were resting on this.) He quickly wiped his phone off and pocketed it, and took the bowl to table with a pair of chopsticks, wincing from the heat.

 

Viktor’s head poked out of his door again. 

 

He gave a tentative sniff at first, before springing forward with a grin. When he reached the table he rubbed his hands together. “It smells…  _ irresistible! _ ” He enthused, waggling his eyebrows. Yuuri handed him the chopsticks and set the bowl before him with some reluctance. If the sight of it dampened his enthusiasm at all, Viktor didn’t let on. 

 

He made a real show of the first bite. Yuuri had to roll his eyes. 

 

He watched Viktor, with some hesitancy at first, and then more intently as the seconds passed and he showed no sign of delivering his verdict.

 

“Yes?” Yuuri urged.

 

Finally, after a contemplative fourth mouthful, Viktor raised his head, nodding slightly. He gave a stern stare to the bite he held up before him, like he was considering it gravely. “I would give this…” Fifth mouthful (and a very deliberate purse of the lips)… Then his eyes shone as he regarded Yuuri. “Silver!” 

 

Oh.  _ Oh. _ Yuuri exhaled and laughed aloud. Viktor joined, feeding Yuuri his own first bite. Yuuri licked his lips and smiled - not perfect, but certainly satisfactory.

 

And he knew what _silver_ had meant. It meant _don’t stop making me pork cutlet bowls_.

 

“You asked if katsudon was the food of God,” he told Viktor laughingly, dipping his head forward to receive another mouthful. “I guess this isn’t quite that…”

 

Viktor feigned a pensive frown, playful, before taking Yuuri’s chin to feed him again. “Maybe not…” His eyebrows flashed and he smiled a dreamy smile.  “But it is the food of an  _ angel _ .”

  
  
  



End file.
